


Everything in Between

by Kate_Shepard



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Porn With Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22957645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Shepard/pseuds/Kate_Shepard
Summary: It's the moonlight and the rattle of you knocking on the doorI wind up breaking out a bottle, then it's cotton on the floorIt's the drinking, it's the touching, it's the lying, it's the stingIt kills me when you leaveI hate how it starts, I hate how it endsBut I love everything, everything in between
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	Everything in Between

  
  
The knock on her door brought Hawke’s head up from the book she was dozing over by the fire. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, and Chance just sighed and resettled his head on his paws, confirming her suspicions. There was only one person who’d come to her in the witching hours of the morning and would walk into the estate like he lived here—which he could have once upon a time—but would stop and give that particular forceful, hesitant knock. After their run-in with the Tevinter magisters earlier that day, she’d been expecting him. Someday, she would stop answering.

Someday, but not tonight. Tonight, she was weak. Tonight, the estate was too empty, too quiet with only the staff in residence and them in their quarters. Tonight, she was far too aware of what had been lost. Uncle Gamlen disowned. Father, Bethany, Carver, Mother all dead. Her entire family, gone. Tonight, she felt like a ghost, lingering after everything that should have held her here had passed but not knowing what else to do. She put the book down and went to the door.

Fenris waited on the other side, shuffling his feet and turning to leave. He looked at her, his lips pinched and brow deeply furrowed. His green eyes welled with torment. Wordlessly, she opened the door wide and stepped back to let him in. He strode in like he was afraid she would shut it on him again if he hesitated.

“I should not be here,” he said, going to the hearth and bracing his hand on the mantel. “I have nowhere else to go.”

It was a lie, and she knew it. There were plenty of places he could have gone. He could have gotten drunk at The Hanged Man. He could have tumbled into Isabela’s bed. Hawke knew she wouldn’t turn him down. But he came to her.

“I’ll get the drinks,” she said. His eyes met hers again, and she was struck by the raw vulnerability in them. She added softly, “I am glad you came, Fenris. The house echoes tonight.”

He nodded slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, and unstrapped the massive greatsword he always carried from his back. Putting it in its customary spot near the fireplace, he started unfastening his armor and setting it aside. This was one of the few places he was willing to do so. He didn’t even go long without it in his own house.

She went out to the casks and filled two glasses of wine. Bringing them back into the room, she found him seated on a sheet he’d spread out on the floor in front of the fireplace. He gazed at the dancing flames, an arm draped over his upraised knee, watching it as if he could discern the missing pieces of his past from it.

She sank down beside him, passing him a glass. He took it absently and drained it without pausing to taste it. She bit back a quip and leaned her head against his shoulder instead. After a moment, his cheek came to rest against her hair. Maker, she’d missed this, just being close to him.

Like the fool she was, she’d gone and fallen in love with him. She opened herself to him every time he came. And he broke her heart a little more every time he left.

His arm wrapped around her, callused fingers tracing her bare shoulder and sending sparks—real ones—trailing over her skin. He’d gotten used to them, so he no longer jerked away when it happened, but he stopped all the same.

She bit down on the lance of pain at the rejection of what she was. He wanted her, but he couldn’t accept her. He couldn’t accept that she was different from the magisters.

“You still believe I will give in to temptation and become the thing I fight,” she said quietly. A statement, not an accusation.

“Yes,” he answered. “You are stronger than most, but how much temptation can you be offered and continue to resist?”

She raised her head, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. “You assume I’m tempted by blood magic, by demons. I wasn’t when my sister lay dying and the darkspawn were all around us. I wasn’t in the Deep Roads. I wasn’t when my own mother died in my arms. Tell me, what then could tempt me now?”

He shrugged. “Power. Vengeance. Greed.”

She turned to glare at him. “If that’s what you really think of me, then I’ll thank you to leave. You don’t know me at all if you believe that. Go home, Fenris.”

He winced. “I’m sorry, Hawke. You’re right. That was unkind. And wrong. You are not like the magisters.”

She relaxed slightly. “Then why don’t you trust me? What do you really fear?”

“An existential threat to those of your people who remain,” he said. “That’s what I think would break you. You would do it to protect us. And you would either die or I would be forced to kill you. Either way, I would lose you to it. What mage do you know who has not succumbed?”

“Myself,” she said. “My sister. My father. The latter two died without ever turning to blood magic.”

“Or they died before they could,” he said, then sighed and shook his head when her jaw clenched. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I should go. I am no company for you tonight.”

She reached out and took his arm. “Don’t.”

His lyrium markings flared and damped again almost instantly. She didn’t release him. Even if they were arguing and he was making her angry, they were at least together. If he left, she would probably end up at The Hanged Man herself, tumbling into someone’s bed just to keep from being alone. If she was going to tumble with anyone, she wanted to do it with him.

Her lips crashed into his, her hand delving into his stark white hair. He groaned and opened for her, pushing her down onto the cloth. His hands slid over her, slipping her nightgown from her shoulders and baring her to the warmth of the fire. His trousers vanished under her hands, and she gave a shuddering sigh at the sensation of his heated skin on hers.

He let her roll him onto his back and stretched out beneath her, the glowing firelight dancing on his skin in contrast to the icy gleam of the lyrium marks. She traced the curving lines over his sharp chin, and his eyes jumped to hers, pinning her in place. He didn’t move to stop her, though.

He wouldn’t deny her anything short of what she wanted most. He would give her his body. He would stay near her and answer when she called for him. He would let her do anything she wanted, would even tolerate magic when she used it for pleasure, though it frightened him because he still didn’t fully trust her not to turn it on him.

It was this, though, even more than her red scarf he still kept around his gauntlet or her crest always on his belt that told her he lied at least a little when he said it was over. Hawke was still the only person he allowed to touch him. Anyone else was likely to lose a hand. He not only let her touch him; he let her touch the marks.

Tonight, his eyes bore the shadows that told her they pained him, so she called on her magic and smoothed her hand over them, chanting the familiar spell as her fingertips traced each line and curve over his shoulders and down his arms, her lips chasing her touch across his chest. His head fell back, his eyes drifting closed and his hand sliding into her hair.

“Hawke,” he groaned hoarsely. His fingers traced circles on her scalp, caressing her hair. “Oh, sweet Hawke.”

She nuzzled her forehead against his abdomen at his words, her fingers continuing their journey, dispelling the magic from the brands for a time and easing his pain. He’d only agreed to let her try this the year before, and he’d been terrified at first. Now, though, his breath caught in his chest and his lithe body moved into her touch, seeking it. When her hands traveled over his thighs and her lips whispered over his throbbing length, he hissed in air and his hand fisted in her hair.

She loved him like this, undone, the fear and fury set aside and forgotten for the moment. He was _hers_ in these moments, only hers. He gave himself over to her with a hard-won trust that was nevertheless still humbling. She drank in the sight of him, taking him into her mouth as her fingers completed their journey and began their trek back up, traipsing over the backs of his calves and thighs.

When they cupped his lush ass as her mouth sank down to take him fully, he shouted her name, his hips bucking as he pulsed onto her tongue. With a human man, that would be the end of things for awhile, but she’d learned that with him, he was just getting started. He panted for breath, arching his back to allow her hands to continue up. She kissed and licked her way back up his body, damping the last of the magic in his skin, and he rolled her onto her back.

She moved with him, wrapping a leg over his hip and looking up at him. His eyes gleamed in the dim light, fixed on hers. His mouth and throat worked like he was preparing to say something, but he remained silent, bracing over her on an elbow and drifting his fingers over her collarbone and down to cup her breast. She gasped when his thumb brushed her nipple, and his lips quirked in a ghost of the smile only she ever got to see.

“Fenris, my Fenris,” she whispered, sliding her hands over his shoulders, determined to hold him here this time.

He looked down, watching his thumb and forefinger roll her nipple between them, and she cursed herself for opening her mouth. His hand swept down her belly, his fingers finding her center and stroking over it, driving the thought away. His lips captured hers, hot and hungry, and his finger slid smoothly into her. Need lanced through her belly like casting a lightning bolt, and sparks raced over her skin again. This time, though, he didn’t pull away.

“That’s it, Hawke,” he murmured against her lips. “You’re so hot and open, wanting, beautiful.”

“Fenris, please….” She arched up into his hand, needing more, needing him.

His finger retreated, and he shifted his weight to settle between her thighs, nudging her entrance. She wrapped her legs around him, locking him in her embrace. Without breaking the kiss, he sank slowly into her, inch by agonizingly slow inch until it felt like they went on forever, so entwined that they had neither beginning nor end.

She gave herself over to him, moving with him, letting him lead. Her cries rang out in the still room, covered only by his lips and the crackle of the fire. He canted her hips up, his hands exploring her as she’d done him a hundred times, and drove her higher until the fire raged in the hearth and the windows frosted over and sparks arced from her fingertips onto his skin. He moaned into her mouth, his control snapping, and buried himself in her again and again.

She called his name loudly enough that she’d have been certain the staff could hear her in the servants’ quarters if she’d had enough presence of mind to remember they were there. The world outside this room had ceased to exist, though. There was only Fenris, on her, in her, his scent enveloping her, the sounds he made filling her ears, the heat of him searing her flesh. With a loud moan, he threw his head back and thrust deep, spilling into her in hot spurts. He collapsed onto her, trembling, and she stroked his hair and held him close.

Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe tonight he would stay.

“I love you,” she whispered when the fire had banked to embers and the room was dark around them.

The only answer was the even sound of his breathing. She curled into him, wrapping her arms around him to hold him there, and drifted to sleep with the beat of his heart beneath her ear.

When she woke later in her bed, he was gone again as she’d known he would be. Next time, she promised herself, she wouldn’t answer. It wasn’t worth the heartache. He wasn’t worth the pain. It hurt when he showed up at her door, and it hurt when she woke alone.

But oh how she loved everything in between.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from "Everything in Between" by Michael Ray


End file.
